


Ragnarok

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, The world doesn't need or want this but I did, Vaginal Fingering, again though what else do you expect from me, but what else do you expect from me writing about these two, i don't know don't look at me, implied misogyny, it's sylvain and I love him and writing him and all but lbr, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: Sylvain has a Dark Knight certification test coming up and wants tutoring help from the mage with the most magical fingers he knows.Spoiler alert: neither of them learn any lessons.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	Ragnarok

**Author's Note:**

> Bold of you to assume I even glanced at this again before posting. I just wanted senseless DoroSyl smut, okay, I just wanted something dumb, I just wanted you to leave me alone and not to tease me for writing this, I just wanted—

“And the reason you can’t ask someone else for help is because…?”

Dorothea remained unaffected as Sylvain pouted at her with big, insincere eyes. “Because you’re the best I know, Dor.”

The desk in one of the old Blue Lions classrooms was wide enough to put enough distance between her and the way Sylvain leaned over it, like _he_ was a diva trying to show off a bit of cleavage. But she still felt him, felt the primal, intense lure of his body as if they were chest to chest.

Damn it all, but didn’t the boy have such a smoldering pair of eyes.

But she wasn’t going to give in just because Sylvain had pretty eyes. Or a pretty face. Or a strong body. Or a good, hard _dick—_

“Training on your own will help you more than me. Go play with yourself,” she told him. His smirk widened. To her irritation—and quiet, secret delight—Sylvain only hummed, slid a falsely-considering expression onto his face, and strode over to her side of the desk. Dorothea’s heart pounded in time with each of his footsteps.

Sylvain’s hand came down over her shoulder, and she jumped, expecting—a spellbook dropped onto the desk in front of her. “Well, if you change your mind,” he murmured, breath caressing her ear, “I’m _always_ ready to play.”

“Half the monastery knows that. I’m sure there’s a willing playmate somewhere,” she scoffed, but her skin was prickling, and she could only pray her coiffure covered it enough—oh, _hells_ , he’d brushed aside a lock of her hair to kiss the ends and now the chills on her skin were so _apparent_.

“’Somewhere’ indeed,” Sylvain agreed. Dorothea shivered. There was no way he couldn’t have noticed—but he let her hair fall from his fingers. Even the smooth touch of her own hair on her neck made fire coil in her stomach. “Maybe I’ll go look _somewhere_ ,” he said cheerfully, spinning away. “See ya ‘round, Dor—”

“Wait.”

 _You forgot your spellbook_ , she wanted to say. She twisted in her seat, ready to pierce his expectant, excited face with a cold glare.

Instead, she sighed, patted the empty spot on the bench next to her, and said nothing. And didn’t even hate herself when Sylvain loped over and swung into the seat far closer than necessary.

“You’re the best,” he grinned at her, and were it not for how it was a little too close to a leer, Dorothea would have blushed.

“Honestly,” she agreed. She shifted on the bench and Sylvain took that as his cue to slide a little closer. She shot him a quick glare, to which she received only an innocent smile. “Some space, please?”

Sylvain held up his hands in mock surrender and obediently scooted away. An inch.

The book’s spine creaked under her fingers. “What spells do you need to know to pass certification?”

“Mm, I don’t remember the names.”

“You don’t remember the names.”

Wide-eyed, ignorant, falsely-charming eyes blinked back. “Can I see the table of contents?”

Dorothea passed him the book, not bothering to hide her wary expression. What was so flirtatious about faking dim-wittedness? What was the game this time—

Sylvain leaned over her shoulder far too close and inspected the page. His pointer finger almost grazed hers when he trailed it down the list, humming in consideration.

She could feel the heat of his skin.

Ah.

“Oh, right,” he murmured, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. “Supposed to learn this one here.”

His eyes scorched her with their heat.

Dorothea swallowed and forced her tone to remain dismissive and cool. “R-ragnarok..?”

Her voice shook.

 _Shit_.

Sylvain’s innocent little smile unfurled into a full-fledged sneer. And Dorothea hated the little thrill it sent through her. “’R-ragnarok..?’” he mocked her. “No, no, Doro _the_ a. Read it again.” Before she could recoil, he covered her hand with his own larger, more calloused one. She let him move her fingers over the page, forcing her own pointer finger to underline the name of the spell. “I don’t think that’s how it’s pronounced.”

Her own sneer was fast drooping into a pout. Damn him, but he was making her toes curl just with that voice. Sylvain was never honest, not with anything, not with anyone. But Dorothea confessed to some odd little thrill every time his charming act dropped and he didn’t bother concealing his disdain for people like her. For women like her. And Dorothea knew he knew how into it she was.

What did that say about her, then?

Nothing good. Not about either of them, frankly.

“Then you correct me,” she said, tugging her hand to no avail. His grip was like steel.

Sylvain shook his head. “Nah, I came to you for _help_ , remember? It’s no good if I’m the one doing all the teaching.”

“I told you, why not ask—”

“You’re the _best I know_ , Dor.”

His fingers stroked the very tips of hers. She bit down on a moan, aware of how his burning, dark eyes unabashedly stared at her teeth sinking into her full lower lip. Dorothea dared to meet him straight on, hoping to regain her disaffected air—

Sylvain flashed a sharp smile, stuck out his tongue just past his teeth, and curled it slowly, invitingly, lewdly.

“You’re repulsive,” she told him. His laugh brightened the dark and somehow-enticing air between them. Sylvain leaned forward, the ghost of that laugh still quirking his lips even as it echoed in the empty former classroom.

“You love it,” he reminded her.

Dorothea had nothing to say to that. She tried to return her attention to the spellbook, as if it actually mattered. Sylvain tugged on her hand until she sighed and looked up again, refusing to let her pretend.

“What.”

“Need a reminder?”

Her heart _thundered_ in her chest.

“Of what, Sylvain?” and thank the Goddess, but there was at least _somewhat_ of a purr in her voice. “Use your words.”

“Nah,” Sylvain smirked, and with one more tug of her hand _sweet Seiros he’d practically pulled her into his lap, so strong, so_ —“I know you prefer _action_.”

He didn’t wait to hear any sort of scathing reply; he tangled his free hand in her hair, pushed her closer, and captured her lips with his own.

And Dorothea pressed herself against him to kiss him back harder.

“You pathetic little demon,” she gasped when he let her breathe. “Just be honest for once and _say_ what you want next time—”

“Next time, huh?” He cupped her face in his hands, tracing the line of her jaw as he sucked hard on her bitten lower lip. “’Sides, where’s the fun in being honest? You know me better than that, _Dorothea_.”

Her lips parted under his aggressive kisses, and when his tongue slipped past, Dorothea moaned into his mouth. “Try and pronounce it,” Sylvain said against her lips. She tried to pull away to ask, but he answered the unvoiced question. “’Ragnarok.’ Try it out.”

Before she could snap something about where he could stick his pronunciation, his tongue was back in her mouth. Kiss after kiss, gasp after gasp, moan after moan, Sylvain stopped to let her breathe—but never long enough.

Finally, an opportunity. Sylvain swore when she bit down, and he was bleeding when her teeth let him pull back. “You are just the most—oh,” she gasped.

Sylvain pinched her nipple, because the fucking jerk had shoved his hand down her neckline, and Dorothea _yelped_. “Sorry, what? I don’t know what that—” _twist, moan_ “—means. ‘Oh?’”

“Sylvain,” Dorothea snarled. She grabbed at him, nails managing to catch the sides of his neck as he dodged her frantic, punishing embrace. Sylvain shuddered and moaned, too, but his fingers just sped up, alternating soft, tender brushes and rough, cruel tweaks. His other hand now had joined in, smoothing the not-quite-soft fabric of her bodice over the other breast.

Well, fuck him, too. Dorothea raked her nails down his chest, making him curse. But he didn’t try and stop her when she palmed his cock through his pants. Sylvain closed his eyes and moaned. His hips twitched, and she rubbed at him almost too-roughly to see if she could make him do it again.

“I’m not fucking you,” she informed him more breathlessly than she’d expected.

His dark eyes taunted her when he cracked them open. “So what’s this called?”

She wriggled away from his fingers. He let her, far more interested in the way she was quickly unfastening his pants.

“Getting each other off.” His cock jutted out, and she wasted no time running her palm up and around the tip, sliding his precum along her hand.

Sylvain cursed quietly with her first stroke up. Dorothea looked over her shoulder, but the door was still closed, and who would bother checking this old classroom, anyway? There was something deliciously delinquent about doing it here, no matter how old or war-scarred they had become.

“C’mon. Come here, Dor.” Dorothea slid closer, letting Sylvain’s expectant arm wrap around her shoulders. He pressed a surprisingly affectionate kiss to her temple. “Lift your skirt, babe.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped without heat, but obeyed.

“Fine, fine. Hold it up, _my lady Dorothea_. Gonna make you feel good.”

Hearing the title, however mocking, made something lonely and hot go shivering down her spine. Dorothea sucked in a hiss with the first touch of his fingers stroking up her center. She adjusted her grip on him and went faster—

“Slower, slower—”

—slowed down, squeezing gently when she got closer to the tip like she remembered he liked. Sylvain shivered, too, pressed his face against her hair, and traced a teasing circle around her clit.

Dorothea leaned into his embrace and closed her eyes, too. Up and down, brushing lightly against the thick vein under his cock, swirling her thumb a little more into his sensitive slit, moaning alongside him when he finally deigned to thrust one finger, then two inside her.

“ _Fuck,_ Sylvain,” she cried out when his thumb pressed _down_ on her clit just as both fingers curled. He huffed a laugh against her ear, traced a path along the shell with his tongue.

“Oh? Thought we were just getting each other off—”

“Stop, shut up,” Dorothea gasped. “You were—you’d been doing _well_ —”

Sylvain chuckled, but it sounded forced, like he’d tried to stop a moan, because Dorothea _knew_ he liked it when she twisted her wrist just like _that_ and he better well not stop what he was doing or she would _get him off_ faster than he wanted—“Yeah, I know,” he said smugly. Dorothea thought about making him come then and there just to shut him up, but then he’d _stop_ …

Sylvain adjusted his hand over her shoulder, now bringing it around her back, and slid back into her bodice. She sighed happily when he rolled slow circles over her nipple.

“Good?”

“Mm.”

Silence, _thank the Goddess_ , save the sounds of her hand’s quick, slick strokes on his cock. Their mingled gasps and curses. His fingers working her fast and deep. The creaks of the desk. The flutter and rustle of clothes on clothes.

“Dor,” Sylvain panted into her ear, a warning. “Almost, can I—”

“Not on me,” she bit out through the last gasp.

“Mkay, okay,” and both his hands sped _up_ , so impatient, but he knew just where and how her body _loved_ to be touched, how to make it last or make it _fast_ , make the heat coil sharp and slow in her, make her hips chase every thrust of his fingers, and the idiot was so selfish and wanted to finish, to—

“Oh, fuck _you_ ,” Dorothea moaned, his thumb rubbing insistently, refusing to relent, not even through the sudden shudders and hot, hot pleasure coursing through her. “Fuck you, fuck _y—you_ , Sylvain—”

Sylvain laughed— _laughed_!—as she came, even with her grip on him loosening. “Yeah, I know,” he said over her disparaging his name. He pushed her hand away from his cock and took over. But he still trailed his fingers out of her, in, slicking her own wetness over her clit, again, again—“I know, I—”

“Fuck you,” Dorothea snarled again, shoving his hand from her. She pressed her sweaty forehead against her sweaty arm on the table, watching him fuck his own hand. Sylvain watched her, too, labored breaths through his parted, bloodied lips.

He stiffened, his eyes widened. “Shit—” Sylvain fumbled for something, anything, and without thinking, Dorothea shoved the spellbook at him. He came with another snarling curse, splattering the stupid table of contents with his release.

Sylvain’s eyes were still dark. Wild. Aflame.

Dorothea stared, still recovering, as Sylvain calmed his own pants and shivers. She sat up properly when his breathing calmed. When he seemed human again. The book snapped closed in his trembling hands; he dropped it, rather unceremoniously, its abused pages fluttering not-quite-smoothly as it hit the ground.

Dorothea wrinkled her nose. “Classy.”

Sylvain snorted, too pleased with himself to bother sounding refined. “That’s me.” He stretched, yawned, scratched the back of his head like he’d just had a pleasant nap, and tucked himself back into his pants. “Ugh,” he continued, making a face, too. “I’m gonna have to figure out where I can buy a book like this for the library. Can’t really…return it like this.”

Dorothea’s eyes bugged out of her head. “You _borrowed_ this book?”

“Not from like, a _person_! It’s fine—I just need to figure out who the binder is.” Sylvain looked at the gross thing uncertainly, like he was _finally_ aware his actions had consequences and he was going to have to touch it, dispose of it, leave the _room_ with it.

She wondered what it was like to be so casual with one’s wealth that one could waste an entire, expensive book just for a quick fuck among unfriendly friends.

“Hm. Okay, I recognize the name,” Sylvain said, squinting down at the spine with his head tilted at an awkward angle. “Watch out.”

Before Dorothea could even ‘watch out,’ Sylvain set the book ablaze.

“Sylvain!” she squeaked, yanking her skirts away in the nick of time. Sylvain, the _jerk_ , only shrugged, stretched again, and rose from the bench.

“I guess I’ve got a mail order to make,” he sighed. He winked and blew her a kiss, even though he was only inches away. “Oh, by the way: I have some great news!”

Dorothea didn’t particularly care at the moment, too horrified by the waste of a book and the charred edges of her dress. So it was really too good of her when she humored him: “What’s your great news?”

“Passed my certification test yesterday. Thanks for the black magic review, though!” Sylvain danced away from her before she had even processed his words. He offered a final cheery wave and departed, leaving the classroom door open despite her own state of disarray.

Dorothea hastily rearranged her skirts and hair the second the first chilly breeze kissed her skin. She glared at the empty, Sylvain-free doorway, then the blackened, Sylvain-created ashes on the stone floor.

 _Ragnarok_.

She’d teach him more than how to _pronounce_ it next time.

Dorothea’s next glare she wished she could aim at herself.

Because of course there was going to be a _next time_.


End file.
